


like we're the stars of the human race

by delightfulalot



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1367845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delightfulalot/pseuds/delightfulalot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever Louis wears heels and complains that her feet hurt Harry carries her. Or, five important piggyback rides in Harry and Louis' relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like we're the stars of the human race

**Author's Note:**

> IN THE WORKS SINCE JANUARY 3RD!!!!! once upon a time [molly](http://underwaternow.tumblr.com) and I spent a solid week yelling at each other about Harry and girl!Louis, and she wrote two stories in that same time and I took almost three full months to write ONE. This takes place in molly’s ["put you on repeat"](http://archiveofourown.org/series/67448) ‘verse; namely, piggyback ride number one comes first, then both molly’s stories, then piggyback ride number two and the rest. you don’t necessarily have to read molly's except that it’ll…tell you how they get together and also it’s SUPER ADORABLE and AMAZING and YOU SHOULD READ IT. GO AHEAD. I’LL WAIT. okay, hopefully this one is half as good!!! thanks go to molly, obviously, and also [jasmine](http://guillotineheart.tumblr.com) for giving this thing a final look-over. title is from ellie goulding’s “burn”. i'm on [ tumblr](http://swamiface.tumblr.com) if you're into that.

_one_

"My feet are fucking _killing_ me," Louis says, as soon as Harry walks out of his last class of the day. She's leaning against the wall across from the door, looking like she's been there for a while. 

"Didn't you have class, Lou?" Harry asks, and she shrugs. 

"Got out early. These shoes are like torture devices." She lifts one foot to show off - she's wearing strappy sandal things today, with huge, sharp heels on them. 

"Looks like you could gouge an eye out with that," Harry observes. Louis grins. 

"These are my man-killing heels." 

Harry rolls his eyes. "That's probably why your feet hurt, then. Maybe you shouldn't wear those anymore." 

"But if I never wore heels I'd never get to actually look you in the eye," Louis says, leaning her head all the way back to do just that. Even with the ridiculous heels he's got half a foot on her. 

"That is very important, I s'pose." 

"Yeah, I dunno what I'd do without those big green eyes as part of my day," she says, flippant, but then she shifts her weight from foot to foot and grimaces. Harry sighs, turns around, and squats. 

"Hop on," he says, pointing to his back with one thumb. 

"Um. What?" 

"I'm giving you a ride home," he says patiently. "Hop on." 

"I don't know if you've noticed, Styles, but I'm in a _skirt_.” 

"Well then I guess you can just walk home with those shoes," he says, moving to stand up, but she puts both hands on his shoulders and yells, "Wait!" He grins. 

She slides her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist; he hooks his arms around her knees and stands up, only stumbling a little, and then hitches her up to sit a little higher on his back, making her skirt flare up. She squeals.

"Skirt, Harry, I'm in a skirt!" 

"Whoops," he says, but he moves his head just enough so he's able to kiss the arm she's got across his chest. There's a loud _clack_ and one of her shoes falls to the floor. 

"Can you carry my shoes?" she asks into his ear. He shivers, and it's only because his ear's always been kind of sensitive and _definitely_ not because of the way her breath moves across his skin. 

"Ye-yeah," he stutters, clearing his throat halfway through. 

"Great," she says, and then they just stand there for a minute before she laughs and says, "you need to pick that one up. Also take this one off," she says, kicking her leg and making the one shoe still on her foot fall with another _clack_. 

"I didn't mean to do that," she says, but she's cracking up, holding on to his body more tightly, and he just takes a second to steady his breathing with her entire body pressed up against his back before ducking down and retrieving both her shoes, holding them loosely by the straps in one hand. 

"My hero," she says, kissing behind his ear, before spitting exaggeratedly. "You've got too much hair, Hazza, I don't know if I'll be able to breathe the whole way home." 

"I'm perfectly content dropping you off right here," he says, loosening his hold on her legs, but she squeezes her arms around his neck. 

"Don't!" 

“Okay. I won’t,” he says, not-so-secretly pleased at the way her hands are fisted into his shirt from when he threatened to drop her, and even more pleased when she nuzzles into his hair and sniffs. 

“At least this whole mess smells lovely. What is that, strawberries?” 

He hmms. “Not sure, actually. It’s Gem’s shampoo.” 

“Oh, of course it is,” she says, and he can practically hear her roll her eyes, but it’s still fond, so fond, and he grins, wide. She pokes her finger into his dimple and hooks her chin over her shoulder. “Giddy up,” she says after a moment of them not moving, and he says, “Right. Ready?” as he’s tightening his hold on her legs. 

“Born ready, Styles,” she says, and they finally leave the building. He jumps down the steps just outside instead of walking down them normally, and besides almost tripping over his own feet when he lands, it’s enough to make the back of her skirt flip up for just a second. She screeches. “Har- _old_!” 

“That’s not m’name, Lou- _ise_ ,” he says, drawing out the _z_ sound. 

“That’s not mine either,” she grumbles, kicking her heels into his thighs. He grabs one of her feet and just holds it by the heel, which only makes her kick harder, trying to get out of his grip. “Oi!” she yells when she can’t escape. 

“’S not nice to kick people, Lou,” he says as calmly as he can manage, but he has to bite his lip to keep from smiling. 

“It’s also not nice to make me flash the entire _world_ ,” she says, but she stops kicking. They walk in silence for a few minutes, and he tries not to think about how tiny and smooth and soft his best friend is in his arms. He and Louis have been best friends for years, ages, their entire lives, practically, but lately he’s started to really notice that she’s a _girl_ , and not just any girl, but a gorgeous hilarious wonderful _fit_ girl, and it’s causing all kinds of confusing feelings. It doesn’t help that she’s started dating some bloke on the rugby team and talking about him a lot, like Harry’s just her best girlfriend instead of maybe, a little bit, kind of in love with her. 

Not that he’d admit it to her or anyone, really, though Liam’s started to shoot him these little looks at lunch anytime Lou and Niall get in a conversation about boys and Harry has to stop himself from audibly sighing. So maybe he’s not quite as subtle as he’d like to be - he still thinks Lou has no idea, really, and that’s all that matters. 

“D’you want to come to mine tonight?” Louis asks softly into his ear when they’re almost to her house. It’s something she’s asked a million times before, of course, but right now, with her pressed against him and her voice ghosting over his ear, he wants something different, something more. He practically _aches_ with want, but manages to sound completely normal when he says, “‘Course. Anything important planned?” 

She shrugs, and since she still has her hands fisted into his shirt, it slides up just a bit as her shoulders go up. “Not really. Mum’s working the overnight shift, so I’m watching the little ones.” 

“Pizza and Disney films?”

“Yeah, probably,” she says happily. 

“Maybe I can even make brownies,” he muses, and she presses a nice long kiss to his cheek with a _mwah_!

“That’s why I love you, Hazza,” she says. He ignores the little shiver he gets at her words. 

“You just love my baking skills.”

“Mmm, and chocolate!” 

She sounds so happy that he laughs, and she knocks her head against his. They stay like that as he turns down her street, and only move when he gets to the steps in front of her house. 

“Don’t you dare jump up these steps,” she says, and she sounds dangerous. He grins and turns around where he is in front of the bottom step; it’s the perfect height to deposit her on her porch. She slides off daintily, and when he turns around she’s just a little bit taller than him. She smiles down at him. 

“Thanks for the ride,” she says. He puts one foot on the bottom step, leans forward and up, and kisses her forehead. 

“Anytime,” he says, and pretends not to notice the slight flush spreading across her cheeks as he pulls away. “What time do you want me back?” 

“Mmm, half six?” she asks, rather than tells. “I’ll order a pizza to get here around the same time.”

“You should probably order an extra one just for me.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t I always?” 

He just smiles and hands her her shoes; they talk for a few more minutes about nothing in particular, and then Jay is suddenly at the door.

“Lou, I’m about to leave,” she says, before smiling at Harry. “Hello, love. Are you going to help babysit?” 

“Was thinking about it.” 

“You should. You can even stay over, if you’d like. I’m sure Anne wouldn’t mind.” 

“Yeah, I might,” Harry says, looking directly at Louis, who makes a face at him. He laughs at the same time as there’s a shout from inside the house. 

Jay sighs and glances behind her quickly before looking at Louis again. “Come in soon, please, I need to go.” And she disappears into the house. Louis watches her go, and then turns back to Harry.

“Are you really going to stay over?” 

Harry shrugs. “Don’t see why not. ‘Sides, you’ll need a man around the house,” he says, stepping up onto the bottom step so he’s taller than Louis again and flexing his arms. Louis just rolls her eyes and pushes him off the step; he laughs and narrowly avoids falling directly onto his bum. 

“Be back soon!” she calls, turning around and heading into the house after her mum. Harry heads home, just long enough to put a small bag together and kiss his own mum on the cheek - she tells him to call if he needs anything and to “have fun!” while winking - and is back on Louis’ doorstep at six on the dot. 

“You’re early!” she yells at him from upstairs when he lets himself in. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he calls up to her, dropping his bag near the door and toeing his shoes off. “Mum couldn’t wait to get rid of me.” 

“Who could blame her?” Louis asks, sticking her head out of the bathroom at the top of the stairs. She smiles at him. “Oh, good, it is you. I half worried a murderer had let himself in, only murderers show up places half an hour before they’re supposed to.” 

He pulls a face. “Just because I’m not always late -“ but she’s laughing and ducking back into the bathroom before he can finish. 

“Where are the girls?” he calls after a minute, and that’s when two tiny little tornadoes of energy barrel into him. 

“Harry!” the twins yell happily, and then they start babbling at him about school. He leads them to the couch where they have a short tussle over who gets to sit on his lap; he ends up with one on each knee, and is listening to them intently when Louis finally comes downstairs. She doesn’t say anything or interrupt her sisters, just stands at the edge of the couch watching them. He looks up at her; she’s barefoot, in sweatpants and her glasses and a t-shirt much too big on her, hair pulled up in a messy ponytail and a soft look on her face. 

She looks away from her sisters and catches him staring at her; he smiles and she smiles back. 

“Is that my shirt?” he asks when the twins start bickering with each other, instead of talking to him.

She looks down at herself and flushes, but recovers easily and shrugs, smirking. “Looks better on me, Styles.”

“It does,” he says seriously, and his eyes flick down to her lips, pink and soft-looking. Christ, he wants to kiss her. She licks them, self-consciously, and the doorbell rings. 

“Thank god,” she mutters, heading for the door after the twins, who have already run off chanting, “Pizza! Pizza!” 

Harry rubs his hands on his thighs and takes a second to breathe before following after them; it just might end up being a long night. 

_two_

When Louis leaves the changing rooms after practice, her bag with her practice kit over her shoulder, Harry is just outside, waiting for her, and she gets that familiar little flutter in her chest that she always seems to get when she seems him these days. He smiles at her, starts walking forward to meet her, and when they reach each other she lifts her face towards his. 

“Kiss,” she demands, and he obliges, one large hand coming to rest on her hip. When they pull apart they’re both grinning goofily at each other, and he moves his hand from her hip to tangle their fingers together. 

“Good practice?” he asks as they start walking home.

“Hmm, pretty good,” she says, wrinkling her nose and trying not to smile. “Except -“

“Except?” he prompts when she stops talking, looking straight at her.

“There was this total wanker perving on it, watching me the whole time.” 

“A total wanker, huh.”

“Yep! I should probably get my boyfriend to beat him up for me or something.” 

“If you want me to stop coming by,” Harry starts, grip loosening on Louis’ hand. 

“No!” she exclaims, squeezing the hand still in hers and clasping his arm with her other hand, bringing him closer to her. He smiles and lets himself be drawn in. 

“I like you perving on me,” she says, and laughs out loud when he sighs dramatically, dropping his head and fighting a little smile. 

“I’m not _perving_ ,” he says.

“Could you?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows, and he crowds against her, right there in the middle of the sidewalk, mouth going to her neck. She drops her practice bag, arms going around his neck, and sighs into his hair. 

“Is this good?” he asks after a minute, kissing her on the lips quickly before moving to kiss the other side of her neck. 

“Yeah,” she says into a sigh, shivering a little as he moves the collar of her shirt to suck a mark into her skin. “I like when you perv on me.” 

He sighs again, nuzzling into her neck. “I guess that’s just what I’m good at. Perving on my girlfriend.” 

She laughs and pulls him up by his hair so she can kiss him properly. “Can you also be good at giving me a ride?” she asks, and his eyes go wide. 

“Right here, Lou?” he asks, voice deeper and rougher than normal, like just before slipping a finger in her, like when she slides her hand too high up his leg, like when they’re undressing each other in the quiet of his house while his parents are out.

They’re pressed close together, her leg tucked between his, arms around each other, and she hadn’t _meant_ it like that, certainly, but.

“Well,” she starts slowly, “I hadn’t quite meant like _that_ , but if you’re offering….”

“I wasn’t,” he says quickly, looking around. They are, for the moment, blessedly alone, though Louis can see people moving around in their houses. “Not right now, at least,” he adds, and when he leans in to kiss her she’s smirking. 

“No, I meant a piggyback ride,” she says when they pull apart, hands automatically reaching for each other. “It was a rough practice.”

“‘Course,” he says, turning around and not even bothering to bend down. He might be half a foot taller than her but he’s given her so many piggyback rides at this point that it’s practically second nature for her to hop on without thinking about logistics. She settles her practice bag on her hip, strap across her chest, and jumps on. He gives her a moment to get settled and they head off.

She kisses his neck and rests her cheek on his shoulder, shutting her eyes and breathing in. She can smell the flowery scent of his shampoo and the faint scent of grass still lingering over her own skin; together is a smell wholly their own, and Louis loves it.

“You falling asleep on me?” Harry asks after a few minutes, sounding amused, and Louis only hears it because he turns his head and says it almost in her ear. She smiles, keeps her eyes closed.

“No,” she says, but she’s exhausted and he’s warm and she feels small and safe in his arms, feels like if he keeps walking at this steady pace for much longer she _will_ drift off. 

He squeezes her calf. “C’mon, Lou, stay with me,” he says, and when she murmurs _I am_ so quietly that even she has trouble hearing it, he reaches up behind himself and gives her bum a quick tap. Her eyes snap open and her head pops up.

“I thought we weren’t gonna do that in public, Haz,” she breathes into his ear, tightening her thighs around his waist and rolling her hips forward just a little bit. He lets out a little gasp, and she takes the opportunity to nip at his earlobe.

“Lou,” he says warningly, and she licks his cheek and grins, setting her chin on his shoulder. He shakes his head.

“You’re gonna be the death of me one day,” he says, and she just scratches his chest lightly and nods. 

They’re turning onto her street when she remembers something he said. “Hey, did you - d’you mean it earlier, when you called me your girlfriend?”

She can feel him go all tense under her, and she wraps one hand around the collar of his shirt so her thumb dips under it, and she rubs his skin lightly, reassuringly. 

“You called me your boyfriend,” he says slowly, and she has to think about it, it was so second nature.

“No, I said I should get my boyfriend to beat you up,” she says when she remembers. She sighs dramatically, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “I don’t know how to tell you this,” and he inhales quickly, his arms tightening around her knees, “but I’m dating Coach Higgins.” 

He laughs so hard and loud that she’s a little afraid he’s going to drop her; he’s not very coordinated, after all. 

“How do you think I got on the boys’ team?” she says over his laughter, and he ducks his head down and kisses the hand she’s got around his collar.

“You’re such a little shit,” he says through a giggle, and she laughs right into his ear, loud enough to make him flinch away, just a little. She peppers kisses along his cheek, wants to say _I’m in love with you_ so badly but they haven’t really said that yet, haven’t gone farther than _I love you_ or _love you_ , little things they’ve been saying for years. 

When they get to her house, he turns around so she can slide off onto the top step, still grinning and giggling just a little bit when he turns back around to face her. 

“G’night, Lou,” he murmurs, kissing her forehead, and she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him to her so she can kiss him properly before he leaves. He’s breathless when they pull apart, can’t stop looking at her mouth, and she just bites her bottom lip and says, “Night, Harry,” through a smile. 

He starts to leave, but before he’s gone even three steps she can’t help herself anymore and calls, “I want to be your girlfriend, though.” 

When he faces her again, his grin is so wide she’s a little afraid his face is going to split in two. She feels giddiness building in her chest; it feels like a bubble that’s going to force its way out of her one way or another. 

“Yeah?” he says, and she doesn’t open her mouth, is afraid of the noise she might make, so she just nods. 

“I want to be your boyfriend.” 

The bubble bursts; Louis lets out an unearthly squeal, takes a step back, and then takes a running leap across her porch steps, directly onto Harry. Her arms go around his neck, her legs around his waist, just like one of their many piggyback rides but on the front. He laughs, one arm going around her back and one arm going straight out for balance; he stumbles backwards, and the part of her mind that’s not preoccupied with kissing his face thinks, for just a second, that he’s going to do it, he’s gonna stay up.

And then he falls directly onto his arse; she spares a moment to hiss and say, “Ooh, are you okay?” when he makes a pained noise. 

“Fine, ‘m fine,” he says, and she grins and tightens her legs around his waist and returns to kissing his face. He’s still got one arm around her back, both eyes open and focused entirely on her, even though she’s so close she’s most likely blurry. She holds his face in both hands, kisses his nose and then his lips quickly and pulls away, just enough to say, “I love you. I’m _in love_ with you.” 

His face goes impossibly soft and happy, and she has to lean in and kiss him again, can’t _not_. 

“I’m in love with you,” he says against her lips, and she smiles and says it again, and again. 

_three_

Louis gets signed to a pro football club before she even graduates university. Before her last semester, even. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been prouder of her — not when she led their secondary school team to a championship their last year, not when she tripled the attendance to girls’ football their first year at uni, never. 

They hold a press conference when it’s official, Louis and two other boys signing contracts to clubs. Louis gets the most questions, answers them all eloquently, and Harry stands in the back of the crowd feeling like his face is going to burst from smiling. She gets the tiniest bit flustered exactly once: when someone asks whether her recent engagement is going to affect her performance. Harry feels a rush of anger — they didn’t ask either of the blokes up there about their relationships, what _gives_ — but Louis just flushes lightly, prettily, and says, “I’m not sure why my relationship status would affect my performance on the field. My fiancé —“ her voice goes a little soft when she says it, one finger twisting her engagement ring, “—and I aren’t planning on starting a family anytime soon. This is my number one priority for the foreseeable future. Harry understands that, and supports me unconditionally.” 

Harry is so proud he feels like he might _burst_ ; he has to stop himself from cheering at the top of his lungs. Louis catches Harry’s eye and he shoots her a double thumbs up, holding both hands above his head; she smiles softly and shoots him one as well, keeping her hand on the table next to her microphone and sticking her thumb up, so anyone can see but only Harry knows it’s for him. 

They’ve talked about having a baby, starting their family. They both want it, would already be pregnant if it weren’t for Louis’ choice of career. They’d had a scare about a year and a half ago, when they’d thought she was pregnant, and though she hadn’t been, they’d taken the opportunity to talk about it seriously. They’d put a timeline on it — no more “when we have kids” someday maybes — and Louis had even then planned to be a professional footballer, like she’s always kind of thought she could be, and she said, “I wanna do it for at least two seasons before we try.” They’d both thought she’d have to wait longer to get signed, but this just means they can start trying that much sooner. Harry finds himself daydreaming about what their babies will look like all the time, his curly hair and her bright blue eyes and cute little ears and nose and mouth. He hopes they all look like Louis, every single one of them. 

The press conference ends not long after that, and Louis catches Harry’s eye again and gestures towards the side door with her head; he nods at her and heads out the back with the crowd. It takes him a few minutes to get outside and around to the side, but Louis isn’t there yet. Harry spends the time it takes her to arrive daydreaming about going to her football games, possibly with their children, like a proper gender swapped Posh and Becks. Harry’s never really had much interest in fashion, but he thinks he could probably get used to it, especially if he gets to go home and sleep with his professional football playing wife. 

He’s just starting to get distracted thinking about Louis doing Calvin Klein underwear adverts just like David Beckham when the side door opens and the woman herself emerges. 

“Hey, there’s the woman of the hour,” Harry says happily. Louis just groans and leans into him, forehead on his chest and arms at her sides. “Tired?” Harry asks, trying his hardest not to sound amused. 

Louis sighs, reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck and settle her cheek on his shoulder. “Exhausted,” she says. He wraps his arms around her waist. 

“You did a good job, though,” he murmurs, and he can feel her smiling into his neck. 

“You have to say that, you’re my fiancé,” she says, mainly just to call him that, he knows. They’ve both been saying it a lot, ever since the morning two weeks ago when Louis’d said _Haz. Love. Let’s get married_ , like it was something she just thought of while he was curled around her waist in bed, stubbornly holding onto sleep while she drank tea before her early football practice. 

“What?” he’d asked, feeling dumb and slow from sleep but knowing that he had a ring in a small velvet box in their nightstand drawer, one he’d gotten from his mum the last time he’d visited and was planning on giving to Louis as soon as possible. That night, probably. 

“Let’s get married,” she’d said again, running one hand down his bare back, and then scratching lightly on the way up. 

He’d shivered, pushed himself up on his arms, and asked, “What, like right now?” He’d leaned forward and kissed her, deep, and she’d wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, and when he’d pulled away, he’d said, “Let’s get married right now,” with a big grin on his face, and she’d thrown her head back and laughed. 

Now Harry says, “You were definitely the best one up there, babe.” 

Louis shrugs, and he kisses her forehead. “To be honest, I just want to go home. Will you take me home?” She pulls back, settling back on her heels, so she can look into his eyes. He leans down to kiss her, a quick press of their lips together, but she doesn’t let him pull away for a minute, keeping her arms wrapped around his neck, their foreheads pressed together. 

“I will _always_ take you home,” he says, and he’s a little breathless but he’s also grinning at her, wide and dirty, and she lets out a little huff, like she’s annoyed, but he can see the corners of her mouth lifting up, knows she’s actually fond. He pulls away then, moves so he’s holding her hand, slotting their fingers together, and starts to head in the direction of their flat, pulling her behind him, but she holds her ground, wrapping her free hand around his wrist. 

“I was thinking — piggyback ride? Like old times?” 

“That implies we’ve ever stopped,” he says, but he’s already turning around so she can hop on. She does so, and almost immediately her left shoe drops to the ground. 

“I swear I didn’t mean to do that,” she says, practically whispers, into his ear, voice brimming with amusement. 

“Whatever you say, Lou,” he says, leaning over so she can scoop it up, which of course makes her kick her other shoe off, so they have to lean over to pick that one up too, and by then she’s out and out laughing. He takes her shoes from her, dangles them from his fingers instead of hers so they won’t hit him in the chest, and she responds by slowly sliding her hands into the open vee of his button up shirt, scratching lightly over his collarbones and the new tattoos he just got a month ago, swallows for the both of them. She loves them almost as much as he does, is forever touching them and kissing them and biting marks into them. Her favorite is the slightly larger one, the one she calls “the Harry bird,” and she’s very fond of whispering _mine_ at it, just before sucking a bruise into it. She lets her hand rest over that one, directly under the _17black_ he’s just gotten inked on, a reference to her number and the home color of her new team. She hums contentedly into his ear, and he angles his head just enough to bump into hers and squeezes her calves. 

They walk in silence for a while, spotting people they know every once in a while, but Louis is so often hanging off Harry’s back that no one stops them or bothers them or looks at them funny; they just wave and smile and let Harry and Louis go. 

After a few minutes, Louis starts to pull her left hand out of his shirt, but her engagement ring catches on the inside of it, and he immediately reaches a hand to trap hers there, holding it close to his heart. She rubs her thumb on his collarbone, pushes her fourth finger down so he can feel the press of the ring against his skin. 

“Love you,” Louis says.

“Love you,” Harry says. 

“Are you really okay with waiting for kids?” she blurts, and then buries her face in his shoulder, so she’s obviously been thinking about it for ages, probably since before she gave that answer in the press conference. 

“Baby,” he starts, squeezing the hand he’s got trapped in his shirt, feeling the sharp edge of the diamond in his palm through the material, until he feels her raise her head. “I will be your trophy husband for as long as you want me to.”

She kisses his cheek, and behind his ear, and the back of his neck, nips at that same spot, and breathes, “Good.” 

_four_

Louis is drunk. Drunk on champagne and almost no food, a little; drunk on laughter and dancing, more; but mostly drunk on _him_ , drunk on Harry, drunk on love, drunk on the best day of her life with the promise of so many more days just like it. 

Louis and Harry have always only been each other's, even when they weren't, but today they stood up in front of their friends and family and God and country to say, "Yes, you are mine, from now until the day I die you’ll only be mine and I'll only be yours.” No, longer than that, what had Harry said in his vows? _Until all the stars burn out in the sky, until the world has faded into nothing, the only word I want on my lips is your name._

They’ve been inseparable since the ceremony — this morning — their engagement — Year 11 when they finally became a couple — since primary school, when they met — but almost half an hour ago her mother stole Harry from Louis while they were dancing, and Louis doesn’t think she’s seen him since. Suddenly it’s all she wants, to see her husband ( _my husband_ , she thinks, and she twists her wedding ring, lifts her hand to press the metal against her chest above the neckline of her dress) and wrap her arms around him and never let him go, so she turns from where she’s dancing with Liam — all prim and proper with his arms at right angles, even though he’s one of her absolute best friends — to see if she can find him. 

The dance floor is starting to thin out, now that they’ve reached the fourth hour of the reception, but it’s still crowded enough with all their friends and family, practically everyone she’s ever known, that she has to scan to try to find Harry. There’s Zayn and Perrie, wrapped around each other and looking disgustingly in love, and there’s Niall, holding one hand out so Daisy can twirl around her arm to her heart’s consent, and, oh. _Oh_. 

Harry’s got Phoebe on his feet, one hand on her back and one hand wrapped around hers, and he seems to be leading her around in some sort of box step. It’s a bit awkward and stilted, and Harry can’t quite seem to stop looking at his feet, which are hidden by Phoebe standing on them, but she’s giggling, thrilled as can be, and he’s smiling, dimple popped out in his cheek. He looks fatherly and protective and Louis is reminded of earlier in the night, when she’d had Ernie on her hip and he’d had Dory on his and they’d swayed together, near each other, dancing with Louis’ youngest twin siblings, and her heart had felt about ready to burst. 

She wants one. _She wants one_. She wants a baby of her own, one with curly hair and bright green eyes and a serious, thoughtful face that can burst into a grin at the easiest provocation. She wants one right now, with the man in front of her, and so she strides — as best as she can in her giant princess dress, big and long and full of tulle — over to them and taps Phoebe on the shoulder. 

“D’you mind if I cut in, Pheebs?” she asks, keeping her eyes on her sister. 

“I guess not,” Phoebe says reluctantly, stepping off of Harry’s feet, and then leaning in to hug him around the waist. “Thanks,” she says, before skipping over to Daisy and Niall, trying to dance with them. Louis watches her go, and then looks at Harry, smiling. Harry’s got his arms out, ready to dance with her, and she puts one hand on his shoulder and takes his other hand. He slides his free hand from her hip to the small of her back, pulls until her body is flush against his, and brings their tangled together hands to rest on his chest. He rests his cheek against her temple and she closes her eyes and breathes him in as they start to sway. 

“Thank you for saving me,” he says, voice low and deep and rumbly. They’re pressed so close together she can feel it in every nerve in her body. “Had no idea what I was doing.”

She laughs. “It did look like you were having a rough time.” 

“You have no idea,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. He pulls her tighter to him and she slides her hand around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the hair there. He squeezes her hand wrapped in his. “Love you.”

“Love you,” she says on a sigh. They sway together for the rest of this song and half of the next one, ignoring everyone around them who is actually moving to the rhythm of the music, before Louis slips her hand out of Harry’s and slides it around his neck, tangling her fingers together to pull him down towards her, going up on her toes at the same time. He comes easily, so easily, his hands slipping down to most likely rest on her bum through her dress — though she can’t feel them through all her layers of tulle and lace — and his ear angled towards her so she can rest her lips directly on the outer shell of it to whisper, “Let’s make a baby right now.” 

Harry stops swaying, tightens his hands on Louis’ bum so that she can actually feel them, and pulls back just enough that she can see how dark and hungry his eyes have gone. “ _Lou_ ,” he says lowly, voice deep and rough, and it takes nearly all of her willpower not to jump on him right now, in front of her little sisters and new in-laws alike. 

“Let’s go,” she says, sliding her right arm all the way down his left one, scratching lightly at the ink exposed on his forearm where he’s rolled his sleeve up and making him shiver before taking his hand in hers. 

“Yes, let’s,” he says, taking control and heading straight for the door, tugging her along behind him, but she plants her feet and grabs at his wrist with her other hand. He slingshots back into her, free hand automatically on her hip while he nuzzles into her hair. 

“We need to at least get my shoes,” she says, holding up her skirt just enough to kick out a bare foot at him when he pulls back to look at her before sighing deeply. 

“Fine,” he says, but then he crowds into her, whispering into her skin somewhere between her ear and mouth, “but you can’t just say these things to me.” 

Louis grins and turns her face so she can kiss Harry deeply, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Soon,” she promises, and then she pulls him with her to their seats at the head table. She slips her feet back into her heels — kicked off directly after their first dance — and lets go of Harry’s hand just long enough to slide her arms into his tuxedo jacket, hanging over the back of his chair since he rolled his sleeves up to shove a piece of cake into her face (which never happened, of course; she’d given him a _look_ , just enough to make him hesitate, and she’d shoved her piece of cake into the side of his face, smearing icing on his cheek. He’d laughed, long and loud, and scraped off the icing and leaned in to rub it on her face, which resulted in a minor tussle that ended with them licking icing from each other’s faces before kissing while everyone cheered and laughed). 

Niall drops into her seat next to Louis’ just before they can sneak off, a little breathless and sweaty from dancing. 

“And where d’ya think you’re going?” she asks, reaching for the glass of water next to her plate and downing the whole thing in two gulps. 

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Louis says haughtily, “but my husband and I were going to our hotel room for the night.” She gets a thrill through her at the word _husband_ , and judging by the way Harry inhales sharply and squeezes her hand, he gets one too. She looks up at him quickly, her _husband_ who she wants to make _babies_ with, and then she has to look away, back at Niall, goofy grin on her face the only thing giving her away. 

“Not without sayin’ goodbye you’re not,” Niall says, and then she’s back on her feet and grabs Louis’ head in both hands, smacking a kiss to her forehead. “Gimme a mo’,” she says, sweeping away from the table as quickly as she’d appeared. 

Louis looks up at Harry, who shrugs at her, so she just starts tugging him along and makes her way towards her mother, dancing with Dan, to say goodbye. 

They’ve said goodbye to both sets of their parents, Fizzy, and Lottie before the band cuts their song short and there’s a thump on the lead singer’s microphone. When Louis looks up to see Niall and Gemma crowded around it, she groans out loud. Harry moves until he’s standing behind her, both hands on her hips, and she rests her back against his chest. 

“Maybe it won’t be too bad,” he murmurs, but she just shakes her head.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention,” Niall says, and Gemma continues.

“My baby brother and his darling new wife are trying to sneak off,” she says. Louis’ chest feels light and happy when she says the word _wife_. 

“I say we need to give them one last spin around the dance floor before we let them go,” Niall says, and Louis groans, turns around and buries her head in Harry’s chest. The crowd laughs. 

“Well. Maybe we can let them go after a kiss,” Gemma says, and Louis feels a rush of gratitude towards her new sister-in-law. The crowd has picked up on the energy, clapping and cheering, and so Louis pulls back to look at Harry.

“You wanna?” he asks. She nods, slides her arms around his neck and pulls him down to her while going up on her toes. He meets her in the middle, kisses her deeply but sweet, a minimum of tongue, and she’d be completely impressed at his restraint if he weren’t also pressing his hard cock against her thigh. He adjusts himself subtly as they pull apart, and she grins and kisses him on the nose, quick. She raises their joined hands into the air, waving with her free hand, playing it up just a little for the crowd, before pulling Harry along behind her and leaving the ballroom of the hotel, headed straight for the lift. 

“Thank _god_ we’ve got a room here tonight,” Harry says, crowding her up against the back of the lift once the doors close. 

“It does mean you’ve got to wait to fuck me until we get in the room, though,” Louis says, both arms around his back while he sucks a bruise into her exposed collarbone, just above the neckline of her dress. 

“Not as long as I’d have to wait if we’d had the reception somewhere else,” he points out, and she uses a hand in his hair to tug him up so she can kiss him. He pops the very top button of her dress while their mouths are occupied, and when she pulls back she whispers, “We could have had car sex.” 

He laughs, low and rough, into her ear, and she gets shivers down her whole spine when he says, “Saving that for the ride to the airport tomorrow morning.” 

The only reason she doesn’t hop up onto his body, legs around his waist, and kiss him breathless, is because the lift stops and the door opens. They’re starting to meander down the hallway, stopping every few seconds to kiss, when Louis stops suddenly and throws out both arms, cries out, “Wait! You’re supposed to carry me in.” 

Harry kisses her quickly before murmuring, “Can’t believe I almost forgot,” and leaning down to lift her into his arms. She stops him. 

“Not like that,” she says, and motions for him to turn around. He does, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to do it the other way,” he says as she leaps onto his back. He reaches back for her knees, almost unable to find them under all the tulle. “That’s why they call it a ‘bridal carry’, Lou.” 

“We’ve never been the most traditional,” she says, kissing along his jaw and nipping the skin at the hinge of it. He shivers.

“That is true,” he says. When they get to the door, he gestures at his jacket that she’s still wearing and says, “The key’s in the inside pocket.” 

He has to balance himself by leaning against the wall as she lets go of him with one arm to dig into the inner pockets, before finally finding the key and holding it out to him; he doesn’t move his hands from their precariously balanced spot under her skirt and just shrugs.

“Well lean down then,” she says, and he leans forward so she can use both hands to get them into their room. 

It takes her tree tries, but then they’re in. 

“Bed or chair?” she asks, kicking her shoes off onto the floor, but Harry’s already dropping her onto the bed and crawling over her, only stopping on his way to her mouth to keep sucking at the bruise he made earlier on her collarbone. 

“I just want to get this fucking monster of a dress off of you as soon as possible,” he says, hands at the top of her skirt like he could rip it off of her even while he’s kissing her. She grabs both of his hands in hers and pulls away from him enough that he can see her face.

“Are you kidding me?” she asks. “This dress was _five thousand pounds_. I’m not taking it off until I’ve come at least three times.” She lets go of his hands, mainly so she can reach up to start undoing his tie, kissing that spot right behind his ear while she does so. “I’m getting my money’s worth.” 

He laughs. “Is that so?” 

“Absolutely,” she says, pulling him up to her with his tie and then pulling it the rest of the way off. He kisses her, slow and deep, one hand around the back of her neck and his other hand creeping down her skirt. Louis has just started sucking on Harry’s tongue, both hands on his chest, when he breaks away, resting his head on her chest and laughing. 

“How am I going to finger you with this ridiculous thing everywhere?!” 

Louis huffs, flipping her skirt up to expose her knickers. “Get in there,” she says. “It’ll be like a fun little cave, go on.” 

Harry actually _giggles_ , and she can’t help but giggle with him. He kisses her, just a quick peck, and says, fondly, “I really like you.” 

She can feel her gaze go soft, smiling at him, and she cups his cheek in one hand and says, “The feeling is so mutual, Hazza.” He moves his head enough to lay a soft kiss on her palm. She gives him approximately three seconds to look at her adoringly before she puts her hand on his shoulder and starts gently pushing him down. He laughs as he goes, ends up laughing into her thigh until she kicks his back with her heel, flips her skirt back down and says, “Get on with it.” 

She can’t see him at all, can barely even make out the lump of his head, but she can sure as hell feel him, slipping her knickers off quickly, his fingers spreading her open so he can lick directly at her clit. He’s so good at this, so single-minded and focused, and she babbles something to that effect, feels him smile against her and scrape her, very lightly, with his teeth, before dipping two fingers into her and curving them, tongue lapping at her clit. 

Suddenly Louis is pissed that she’s wearing this dumb skirt, wants to see Harry’s face, looking up at her through his eyelashes, smirking when she makes that gasping noise she always makes when he crooks his finger just right. 

“Come — come up here,” she says, kicking his back with her heel again, but he either can’t hear her or misunderstands, choosing to double his efforts, his tongue flicking against her faster, instead of moving out from under her skirt so she can see him. She starts pulling up her skirt, trying to see him, but all that happens is she gets a face full of tulle. She resigns herself to not being able to see, closes her eyes and lets herself _feel_ instead. 

It makes everything sharper, focused only on the sensations of his mouth and hands on her, and she starts squirming under him in a way she hasn’t in years. She can feel him smile, again, one hand gripping at her thigh and holding her down, and she ends up coming twice before he comes up for air. 

Almost immediately Louis rolls them over, straddling Harry in her dress and kissing him, deep, tasting herself on his tongue and grinding her hips down into his. He’s so hard under her, and he groans into her mouth. 

“Wanna fuck you,” she murmurs, and their hands both reach for his belt at the same time. She knocks his away, undoing his belt and trousers herself, lets him start unbuttoning his shirt as she reaches into his pants, gets a hand around him. 

He moans. “Condom — back pocket,” he gasps, and she pulls away just enough to look him directly in the eyes. 

“Don’t need a condom if we’re making a baby,” she says, and the look on his face is so full of joy she has to lean down to kiss him again. 

It’s earlier than she planned, once upon a time, but she’s been feeling that itch lately, stopped taking her birth control pills last month in preparation for this night and her first fuck as a married woman. She lifts up her hips so Harry can do the same and she can pull his pants and trousers down. She pumps his cock a few times before reaching for his hand with one of her own, linking their fingers together as she uses her other hand to line him up, and then she’s sinking down onto him and they both let out breathy little exhales. He squeezes her hand and sits up so he can wrap his other arm around her back, changing the angle and making her stutter out a laugh. 

“Gonna put a baby in you,” he says into her mouth, pumping up into her as she thrusts down. “‘M gonna put _my_ baby in you.” 

“God, _yes_ ,” she says, circling her hips and scratching down his back over his shirt, half unbuttoned and incredibly wrinkled. 

“Love you — love you so much, Lou,” he says, mouthing at her collarbone again. 

“Love you, Haz,” she says, kissing across his forehead. “Wanna have your baby.” 

“ _Yes_. Yes,” he says, still thrusting, his free hand reaching up to tangle in her hair, pulling it out of her updo, and they both come not long after that, her hair falling all around them. 

“I’m in love with you, Mrs. Styles,” he says when they collapse, boneless, back onto the bed, still mostly clothed, Louis on Harry’s chest. 

She unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way, kisses the swallows on his chest, and says, “I’m in love with you, Mr. Tomlinson.” 

_five_

Harry wakes up to an empty bed and the sounds of whispers coming from just outside the bedroom. 

“What do you think? Jumping?” he hears Louis say, and he’s pretty sure that’s Sophie’s delighted gasp. 

“Jump! Jump! Jump on Da!” Sophie exclaims, and Harry has to bite his lip to keep from grinning. Louis notices he’s awake, though, because he can hear her stand up and herd the twins closer to the bed. 

“I think it’s time, girls,” she says in a stage whisper, and then she starts counting down and he has just enough time to cover his crotch with both hands before two tiny toddler bodies are jumping on him, Darcy’s elbow coming alarmingly close to hitting him in a very sensitive place.

“Hap birdy Da!” Sophie shrieks almost directly into his ear, arms around his neck and legs bouncing in excitement on his torso. Darcy doesn’t say anything, just digs her fingers into Harry’s ribs in an approximation of tickling and giggles her little face off. 

“What’s this?” Harry exclaims, managing to snag one arm around Sophie’s body and the other around Darcy’s and swooping them away from their assault on him while he sits up. “I’m being attacked! Help!” He blows a raspberry onto first Sophie’s cheek and then Darcy’s, causing both of them to giggle and Darcy to attach herself on his neck, trying to do the same but only managing to slobber on him. Sophie takes the opportunity to take over tickling him.

“Help! Help!” he exclaims again, looking up at Louis standing at the end of their bed, arms crossed across her chest and a huge fond smile on her face. 

“You’ve got little monsters hanging off of you, Harry!” she says, coming over to rest on the bed next to them. She grabs Darcy around the waist and pulls her off of Harry. Darcy keeps giggling as Louis settles her into her lap, squirming to try to get back to Harry. Harry takes the opportunity to wrangle Sophie into his own lap, holding both her hands in one of his so she’ll stop tickling. 

“ _Da_ ,” Darcy whines after a moment, reaching for Harry. He leans down and kisses her on the forehead and she settles down into Louis’ lap, smiling. 

“Happy birthday, Haz,” Louis says once both the girls have settled, ignoring their parents and babbling to each other in their little twin language. 

“Thank you, Lou,” Harry says, and he leans down to kiss Louis soundly. 

“Well,” she says when he pulls away, both of them grinning, “what do you say to breakfast?” 

“Yum!” both girls yell, and Harry laughs.

“Let’s go,” he says, and he swings Sophie around to cling to his neck so he can give her a piggyback ride downstairs. He half gallops through the living room into the kitchen, and she whoops and shrieks delightedly the whole way. They make it to the kitchen before Louis with Darcy on her hip, following at a much more sedate pace, and Harry is a little surprised to see that breakfast is already waiting for them — a platter of pancakes staying warm in the oven and a plate of bacon on the counter, a pitcher of orange juice next to it. 

“Lou,” he says when she comes into the kitchen. “You made all this?” 

“Of course I did,” she says, strapping Darcy into her high chair before heading over to pluck Sophie off Harry’s back and strap her in too. “It’s your birthday.”

He waits until Louis has finished strapping Sophie in and tugged on the strap to make sure it’s tight enough — which she does every time, for both girls, no matter what — before crossing the kitchen and taking her face in both hands and kissing her again. It doesn’t take long for Louis to sink into the kiss; it never does, not when she’s kissing Harry. She slides her arms around his waist and pulls him against her, and they kiss until Darcy pounds on the tray of her high chair and yells “Da!” 

They feed the girls, and they feed themselves, and Louis offers to clean up. Harry tries to protest, tells her he should do it since she cooked, but she refuses to budge. He takes the girls out of their chairs and sets Sophie on the floor to zoom off somewhere and says, very seriously, to Darcy, “Would you like a piggyback ride?” 

She takes a moment to think about it, one finger tucked into her mouth, and then nods and holds out her arms. He gets her situated and takes off, running all around the lower floor of the house and, when they make it back to the kitchen, almost tripping over Sophie, sitting on the floor and babbling to Louis while Louis washes dishes. Sophie shrieks in delight when Harry almost falls, wrapping her arm around his leg and sitting on his foot, and since Harry would rather not drop Darcy onto her sister’s head, he decides to stand as still as he can with two toddlers crawling on him. 

“How’s it going?” he asks Louis.

“Nearly done,” she says.

“Reckon you want a piggyback ride next?” 

She pauses — she’s still standing at the sink with her back to him, so he can’t see her face, but he can see the sudden tension in her shoulders, and he gets a little nervous.

“Lou?” he asks.

“No,” she says slowly. “I don’t think I’d like a piggyback ride.” 

“Why not?” he asks. He’s been giving her rides regularly for _years_ , even after the girls were born. He stopped while she was pregnant, didn’t even ask again until they were two months old, but she didn’t take him up on the offer until the first night they left them with a babysitter almost a month later and went out for the first time in ages and had a little too much to drink and ended up banging back into the house at half midnight, Louis on Harry’s back just like old times, Harry’s mum looking up from where she and Jay were napping on the couch, a twin sleeping on each of their chests. 

In fact, the last time before that she refused a piggyback ride was —

Was —

Harry quickly pulls Darcy down from his back to set her on the floor next to her sister, neatly steps out of Sophie’s arms and pulls Louis around to face him. She’s looking at the ground, biting her lip to keep a smile under control, but when he puts a finger under her chin to force her gaze up she lets the smile overtake her face.

“ _Lou_ ,” is all Harry says, and she nods and he wraps his arms around her for a hug, tight tight tight, burying his head in her shoulder.

“I took a test this morning,” she says. “I was trying to think of the right way to tell you.”

She’d blurted it out last time, a wondering little “I think I’m pregnant?” while they were watching TV, and he’d bought the test and sat with her while she took it, both of them watching in wonder as the two little plus signs showed up.

“This is good,” he says now, into her neck, and then he pulls away to look her in the eyes, joy written all over her face and no doubt reflected in his own. “Louis. We’re gonna have another baby.” 

“We’re gonna have a full house,” Louis says, and he laughs and kisses her.


End file.
